The Heart of Everything
by Ms Starlight
Summary: Season 4 AU. Oversight is diverting Section resources to scour the French countryside. When Michael finds out why, he and Nikita embark on a desperate mission that pits them against both George and Operations.
1. Scylla

Rating: T - some swearing and violence

Disclaimer: La Femme Nikita and all related characters/places do not belong to me.

A/N: This is set in the middle of season four, just following Nikita's release from the Gelman Process. It stems from the short exchange Madeline and Operations have in the opening of "Man in the Middle," but forgoes the Helmut Volker plot for one that (I think — and hopefully you'll agree) is a lot more interesting.

The Heart of Everything

Chapter 1: Scylla

_Constanta, Romania_

Nikita stopped in front of the Mamaia Casino's impressive outdoor fountains, bent over to adjust one of the straps on her too-high black heels, and took stock of her surroundings. The wire frame schematics of the resort she'd seen before leaving Section were still vivid in her mind. Now her practiced eyes added flesh to the skeleton and took note of the men standing near the entrance, all of whom were wearing the self-assured, hand-at-the-ready stance of a person carrying a concealed weapon.

"Hostiles," she whispered. "Six in sight."

"Intel confirms more inside," Birkoff replied in her ear. "Proceed to contact point alpha."

Nikita straightened and looped her arm through her companion's. "Shall we?"

Mick Schtoppel pulled his arm free of hers and slipped it around her waist instead, hugging her close. "Oh, definitely. Have I told you, by the way, that you look _a-maze-ing_? Because you do, you know. Black suits you."

He had — twice.

"Let's go."

The casino wasn't the fanciest place Nikita had been to since entering Section, but it was a lot classier than the dark nightclubs and tacky parties that Mick usually frequented. A live band was playing, the singer a small woman with huge, black curls and a low, sultry voice. The velvet dress she wore hugged her every curve, and she moved with serpentine grace under the canopy of lantern lights strung across the ceiling.

"Our intel suggests that Janco will be in a back room, probably guarded," Birkoff said. "You'll have to work your way to him."

Nikita glanced at Mick, who was trading in a wad of cash for an impressive stack of chips.

"Are you any good at this?" she asked him.

"Sweetheart! Gambling is one of my specialties."

Another voice broke in over Nikita's com. "The blackjack dealer is one of ours. He'll throw the hands in your favor."

Nikita frowned, not because Section had bought some of the casino staff, but because the man on the other end of her com wasn't who she'd been expecting.

"Where's Michael?"

"Operations has him out on a cold mission," Birkoff replied. "Fredricks is running tactical on this one."

A cold mission. Michael was off somewhere gathering intel. It wasn't something that usually required the attention a level five operative, especially one already in the middle of a mission. A shiver of concern raced up Nikita's spine.

"Come on, love." Mick took her hand. "I need you over here. You're my luck."

She followed him to the blackjack table where he gambled towering stacks of chips on every hand. After several rounds, all of which Mick won with noisy aplomb, they'd begun to attract attention.

"We've been spotted," she said quietly.

Moments later, two large men flanked them. One of them pressed a gun into the small of Mick's back.

"Come with us."

Nikita was grabbed, too, and they were escorted through the casino at a brisk walk to a door at the back of the building. Surveillance cameras were set up on either side, one monitoring the casino floor and another the hallway beyond. They were taken down a flight of stairs and shoved into a smoke filled room where a man was sitting behind a desk, talking on a cell phone. Gabriel Janco. Every underhanded thing that passed through the busy Constanta port on the Black Sea went through him.

Janco snapped his cell phone shut. "You were cheating," he said around the cigar between his teeth.

"Well, o' course I was cheating."

"You were told never to show your face around here again, Mick. Remember?"

"Yeah! Yeah! I know. But I've got a shipment coming through, and I just thought—"

Janco interrupted him. "I'm busy. Just tell me why I shouldn't have you shot."

"Well, you see, my cargo…it's really sort of a…" Mick feigned hesitancy. "It's a person."

"A person? Who?"

"Alfred Masek."

Janco shook his head and took his cigar out of his mouth. "That's impossible. He is in prison."

"_Was_ in prison," Mick corrected. "Not anymore."

The sharp interest in Janco's expression betrayed his thoughts. Masek had personal ties to Janco; he'd had a child with Janco's sister, Eva. But he'd been captured and imprisoned by Interpol two years ago after a failed embassy bombing in north Africa. All of the sims Birkoff had run showed a strong likelihood that, no matter his other suspicions regarding Mick, Janco would take the bait for Masek. Still, he remained reserved and puffed again on his cigar.

"I'm going to need your payment up front."

"S'okay. I've got it covered." Mick pulled some of the chips out of his blazer pockets. "I'll go cash it in, yeah? All of it. It's yours."

Janco didn't seem impressed. "How about the woman?" he asked after a moment. "Does she mean anything to you?"

"The bird?" He laughed and slapped Nikita's bottom. "Sure. But, I mean, if you want her…"

Janco smiled. "Consider it a security deposit. I'll keep her here. And if I find out that you're fucking with me, I'll sell her." Mick nodded and Janco gestured to his men. "Go with him and get the money. Then take down the details of his shipment. You know how this works, Mick. And by the way..."

Mick paused on his way out the door.

"Your little friend, the blackjack dealer? He'll be shot and dumped at sea after his shift is over tonight. Don't you dare fuck with my staff again. Understood?"

A little pale, Mick nodded and they left, leaving Nikita standing alone with Janco in his office. He circled around to the other side of his desk and looked her up and down.

"Do you have a name?"

"Nikita."

"Ah. Russian?"

She nodded, and he said in Russian, "You are awfully pretty to be spending time with Schtoppel. Perhaps I can convince you to stay here with me?"

"Perhaps."

Pleased, he met her eyes. One of his hands roamed across her hip, then traveled up to the zipper at the back of her dress and began to pull it down. For a moment, Nikita let him, never taking her eyes off him. When he had her zipper down all the way to the small of her back, he paused, closed his eyes, and brushed his fingers along the ridges of her spine.

It was uncomfortably gentle. And it made Nikita think of Michael.

She stepped a little closer to him and reached up to let her hair down so that it fell loose down her back. Janco noticed and fisted his hand in it. With the other, he took the still smoldering cigar from his mouth and let the smoke from his mouth drift across her skin.

It was all she could take. Nikita gripped tight the large pin that had been holding up her hair and plunged it into Janco's chest. The drug coating the pin hit his bloodstream quickly and he only had a brief moment to stagger away from her before he slumped to the floor, completely unconscious.

"I have Janco," she announced.

"Proceed to your egress point," Birkoff instructed. "Mick is still with the guards upstairs. You shouldn't have any trouble."

Nikita zipped her dress back up, twisted her hair around her fingers, and secured it once again. Then she looped one of Janco's limp arms around her neck, heaved him up off the floor, and walked out the door.

0 0 0

_Section One_

Before Nikita even had the chance to file her report, Madeline had broken Gabriel Janco. Section now owned him, and through him the Constanta port — a hot spot, Operations had said in the briefing, of Red Cell activity. Nikita hadn't changed yet when she walked up to Walter's work station. He looked up from what he was doing and whistled.

"Wow, sugar. You look gorgeous."

"Thanks, Walter." She smiled and handed him her equipment. "Any idea what sort of mission Operations sent Michael on? He was supposed to be on mine."

"No idea," Walter replied. "And it's better if you don't go around asking."

"Why's that?"

"It was short notice. And that's never good," Walter replied under his breath.

Nikita pursed her lips and nodded. "Should I be worried?"

"Michael knows how to take care of himself."

That much was clear. She was more concerned that the mission might be a signal of coming retribution from either Operations or Madeline. Since Michael had released her from the Gelman Process, and broken every rule in Section to do so, she'd been waiting for one of them to try something. They were too afraid to come right out and issue cancellation orders — afraid because they knew Michael had Adrian. But Nikita was sure that Operations and Madeline were already planning, in some roundabout way, to get rid of them without raising eyebrows at Oversight.

"You on down time?" Walter asked.

"Yeah. But I was thinking maybe I would—"

"Don't. Just go home."

Walter was right. There wasn't any point in waiting for Michael to return. Besides, she reeked of cigar smoke from Janco's foggy office. Before leaving for the night, she traded in her black cocktail dress for the jeans and sweater that she'd worn on her way in. And back at her apartment, she took a long, hot shower before climbing into bed. She fell asleep clutching the gun under her pillow, trying not to imagine what Michael might be doing.

0 0 0

_Alsace-Lorraine_

Michael was due to check in with Section in ten minutes but hadn't decided yet what exactly he was going to say. The only thing he was certain of at the moment was what he _couldn't_ tell Birkoff—the truth.

Operations had somehow gotten word that Center had sent several teams from Section Four to Alsace-Lorraine, an area that wasn't currently the locus of any known terrorist activity. Thirsty to know what was happening above him, and angry that he hadn't been informed, Operations had charged Michael with finding out what they were looking for. He'd already had an idea before he left. Now, he was sure. And dark anxiety had settled in the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly, Birkoff came on over his com.

"Hold on. Operations is here," he said.

"Michael." Operations sounded choked with seriousness. "What have you found?"

A deep breath, then Michael replied, "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

He didn't reply.

"That's not possible. There has been extensive _activity_ in this area."

"I was unable to ascertain an objective."

Operations grunted. "You'll debrief me in full when you get back. Return to Section."

Michael throttled down, made a u-turn, and started for home. The connection was cut, leaving him free to formulate a plan. It would take some careful plotting. Luckily, he had a long drive in which to think things over.

0 0 0

_Section One_

The lights in Section were still dimmed when Nikita got there in the morning. Birkoff was already at his workstation, holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and hitting buttons on his keyboard with the other. Nikita wondered whether he'd slept at all the night before as she walked through com on her way to Madeline's office for an early meeting.

"Good morning." Madeline didn't look away from her computer screen when Nikita walked in. "Please, sit down."

She did.

"We've made good progress with Mr. Janco," Madeline began, finally turning to meet Nikita's eyes. "In a few days, we are going to put him back in play. I'd like you to oversee the move and arrange surveillance to make sure he's playing by the rules we agreed to."

"What rules are those?" Nikita asked.

"That he does what we ask at all times with no hesitation."

Nikita leaned back in her chair. "And what's his motivation to do that?"

"A selfish desire to live," Madeline replied impassively.

"So you want me to stay with him and cancel him if he gets out of line?"

"No. I want you to delegate the task and remain in Section."

Puzzled, Nikita nodded. She was level three, which didn't usually include being responsible for others. But she had led teams before, and she didn't think it would be difficult to find someone to babysit Janco. But the fact that Madeline seemed concerned with keeping her close raised a few alarms. Ignoring them for the moment, she remained passive and emotionless until Madeline dismissed her.

Then she spent an hour combing through personnel files, putting together a small team to continue the Janco mission, before getting a cup of tea and going to visit Walter.

As she walked under the perch, she looked up, expecting to see Operations in his usual position as Section overlord. He was, but Michael was with him too. Neither were looking down and didn't notice her go by. Over her shoulder, she saw Operations yell while waving a panel, and Michael solemnly replied.

"Hey, sugar," Walter said when she turned to look at him. He was working on a jammed assault rifle. "You have a nice night?"

"Yeah. It was okay. When did Michael get back?"

He shrugged. "Oh. I don't know. Half an hour ago maybe?"

"Has he been in with Operations long?"

Walter grunted as he pulled the magazine out of the gun. "Don't worry about it," he said and began racking the slide, trying to clear a double feed. "I'm pretty sure that this time, whatever is going on, it's _not_ about you and Michael."

"So what _is_ going on?" Nikita asked, relieved.

"Alsace-Lorraine. Birkoff told me that's where Michael was all night. And Operations has had everyone in DRV going over the area. We're not even monitoring hot zones right now."

"Why?"

Walter shrugged and, satisfied that he'd cleared the jam in the gun, put it away. "Your guess is as good as mine, sugar. Better, probably."

Curious, Nikita decided to wait in Michael's office. Her tea was cold by the time he finished debriefing with Operations and walked in. He was still dressed in his mission gear: boots, tight pants, and a belted black jacket. Without saying anything, he circled around to the other side of his desk, pulled out a panel, and typed in a sequence to secure the room.

"What's going on?" Nikita asked as soon as he'd sat down.

He unzipped his jacket. "George has Section Four canvassing in Alsace-Lorraine. Operations wants to know why."

It wasn't unheard of for Oversight, and George in particular, to bypass Section One for pet projects. Though in this instance, Operations clearly wasn't in the loop. And fighting between the two heavyweights could only be bad news.

"What's he looking for?" Nikita asked. It had to be something important or George wouldn't have risked getting Operations' attention by using Section people.

Michael looked away briefly, his green eyes stealing a glance at the door and his office window before settling back on her. He knew something, she realized. Something dangerous. His voice was hushed when he replied.

"They're looking for Adrian."

Nikita's mouth went dry.

"Adrian?"

"Yes."

"Has he found her?"

"Not yet."

"And Operations…?"

"Doesn't know."

A breath of relief escaped her. Michael didn't need to explain the situation for her to realize the tight spot they were in. Adrian was their one point of influence over Operations and Madeline. Without her, they were vulnerable to the retribution all their recent insubordination had earned them. Without Adrian, they would both be canceled. But at the same time, if George were to find her and discover what Operations and Madeline had done to her, he would probably have all of Section One rolled up and disposed of. Or worse, Operations could neatly place any blame for Adrian's condition on Michael — the trail would lead back to him eventually, anyway.

"What do we do?" she asked quietly.

"We move her."

Easier said than done in a province crawling with Section Four operatives and under careful scrutiny by their colleagues in DRV. Some of her concern must have shown on her face, because Michael swung his chair around and stood up.

"We can't talk about this here."

"I've got down time," Nikita offered. "Madeline has pulled me off the Janco mission. Said she wanted me to stay around Section."

Michael nodded. "Good."

"I'm still in secondary quarters," she continued. "Until they finish scrubbing the remnants of the Gelman Process from my apartment, anyway." It was a hint. And she wasn't sure if he would take it. Michael was alarmingly intuitive, but he was also fickle and paranoid, always working to keep her on the safe side of a line that, to her, was still fuzzy.

"I'll come get you," he replied.

"When?"

"Tonight."

He didn't seem outwardly concerned, though something in the way he looked at her made Nikita think that he was afraid.

"Do you have a plan?"

He looked away again, collecting himself, shuttering behind his control what he didn't want her to see.

"I will," he finally replied.

The perch was dark when Nikita walked out of Michael's office. If Operations was there, he didn't want everyone below to know what he was doing. Was he worried, Nikita wondered? Was he afraid for his position, or even for his life? She hoped so. It heartened her a little to think that there was a force in the world even Operations had to answer to — even if she was in danger from it, too.

Shaking off the lingering resentment that was darkening her thoughts, Nikita walked to her work station, aware that she would have to spend the rest of her day acting as if nothing was wrong. It was exhausting to pretend like she had no emotions when she'd only just begun to feel again.

The Janco mission. She'd focus on that for now.

Shut down. Close off. Just do the job.

The mantra more difficult to accept now than ever. And, not for the first time, she wondered if she'd made the wrong decision years ago when she'd picked Operations over Adrian.


	2. Charybdis

A/N: There are several lines of dialogue in this chapter that I pulled from the episode "Man in the Middle."

Chapter 2: Charybdis

_Nikita's Apartment - Secondary Quarters_

With a sigh, Nikita lifted her expensive bottle of Pino noir up to the light. A small chunk of cork was floating inside, broken off the bottom of the one now lying on her counter top. This always happened. And she knew her options now were limited — Michael was bound to show up any minute. She poured the wine into his glass first, then began emptying the rest of the bottle into hers, hoping the bit of cork might come out. It didn't and was still floating, creeping toward the mouth of the bottle, when someone knocked on the door.

"Just a minute!"

The wine was too expensive to pour out into the sink, so she topped off her glass, disposed of the remnants of her mutilated cork, and opened the door.

It was Michael. His expression was smooth and inviting.

A different man existed on the outside than the one that roamed Section One. She loved them both. But this one, the one with the faintest hint of a smile, she loved the most.

"Come in," she said.

He walked in behind her and gently closed the door.

"Would you like a glass of wine?"

"Yes. Thank you." He took off his coat before accepting the glass from her. Pino noir was his favorite, and this was a rich French Burgundy — the best the store near her apartment had stocked. Sex in a glass. She watched as he sipped and closed his eyes, holding the wine briefly in his mouth before swallowing.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, hesitant to say anything about Adrian right away. Although she hadn't seen anyone or found anything suspicious, she knew that her apartment was probably under surveillance.

"Yes," Michael replied.

He helped her cook, creating a fragrant sauce from their left over Burgundy (minus the bit of cork which he threw away without saying anything) while she prepared the rest of the meal. His hands were just as deft in the kitchen as they were everywhere else. Dextrous. Gentle. It fascinated Nikita just as much watching him cook as it did watching him kill. They didn't make small-talk. And they ate in silence that was both companionable and tense.

Even at the best of times, a lot went unsaid between the two of them. But tonight was particularly filled with pregnant glances. She wondered what his plan was to get Adrian out of France, whether it was any different from hers. And she wondered if he was thinking about her. Was he feeling the same heart-fluttering excitement watching her eat and she was watching him?

Once they were done with dinner, Michael reached across the table for her hand.

"Let's go out," he suggested.

"Right now?"

"Yes. Now."

Nikita grabbed her jacket and keys.

His car, an understated black sedan, was parked right outside her building. It was brand new and still smelled that way. A whole host of technological gadgets blinked to life on the dash when he turned the key in the ignition.

The last time she'd been in Michael's car, the situation had been much different. She had clear memories of everything that she'd done while under the Gelman Process, but the memories were so stark and clinical that they seemed unreal. So she remembered watching Michael's car crash, and she remembered opening the driver's side door, her gun drawn, expecting to find him dead or close to it. But even now, sitting beside him in the car he'd had to buy to replace the one that had been destroyed in her hunt for him, she had a hard time believing any of it had really happened.

They crossed a bridge, leaving the busy inner city, and she wondered where they were going.

After a while, he turned the car onto a dark, residential lane and pulled to a stop. He let the car idle but turned the lights off.

"So, what are we going to do?" Nikita finally asked.

"Wait," he replied.

"For what?"

He turned to her. "I think we should use Janco."

Nikita frowned. That had occurred to her as well, but she didn't like it.

"He's going to be under Section surveillance," she pointed out. "And even getting Adrian to Romania is going to take a lot of time and luck."

"I'll deal with that," Michael said, effectively shutting down that avenue of conversation.

"And you want me to deal with Janco?" she asked.

"Yes."

She shook her head. "He knows who I am. He knows I'm Section. So if Operations and Madeline get wind of this at all…_ever_…all they'll have to do is ask him. He'll give us away. Madeline didn't even work on him for half an hour before he broke."

Michael's hands tightened a little on the steering wheel. "They won't take him in," he replied.

All at once, it was bizarrely flattering and disturbing to Nikita that Michael was so willing to kill a man to ensure their freedom together.

"Janco won't be in Romania for a few more days," she said, beginning to give in. "Madeline hasn't given me an exact time frame yet."

He nodded. "There are surveillance gaps. I'll pick up Adrian during one of them."

"Michael…" Nikita brushed her hair out of her face and turned to him. "What do we do with her after she's out of Europe? She's senile. We can't just…send her away."

"I'll arrange for her care. You just need to think about Janco."

Her plan wasn't actually any better, and they had to do something, so there was nothing for her to do but agree. Once she did, Michael turned the car off and pulled the key out of the ignition.

"Aren't we going back?" she asked.

In the dark, she couldn't make out his expression. But he reached across the car and took her hand, rubbing his thumb along her palm and down across her wrist, pushing at her pulse there.

"You could stay with me," he said.

Nikita was surprised. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"Well…" The word was almost a sigh. "You'd be more comfortable."

The windows were beginning to fog now that the car was off. And he was still touching her, making her breath catch.

"Is this just for tonight? Or are you thinking of something a little more…permanent?"

"We'd have more privacy," he replied, evading her question.

Part of her would have liked to do the same to him, to give him some non-committal response. But the temporary apartment she was living in now wasn't home and reminded her too frequently of the monster Operations and Madeline had turned her into. Plus, Michael's offer was genuinely appealing. She could stay the night. Why not?

"Okay," she finally said.

He let her go and got out of the car. They were parked in front of a modest, two story house set on a large lot. The grass sparkled with dew from late evening watering and the leaves in the large trees planted along the road rustled in the night breeze above Nikita's head as she closed the car door behind her. Michael started up the walk toward the door.

"This is yours?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I thought you had an apartment," she replied. The last time she'd visited him at home had been right after he'd lost Adam, and he'd been living in a barren loft.

He glanced over his shoulder at her while he fished in his coat pocket for his keys. "I moved."

Inside, the house was spacious and warm. Honey colored hard wood floor clicked under her shoes as she followed him into the living room where her feet sank into thick pile carpet. Michael started a fire in the fireplace while she looked around, taking in the photo of Adam on the mantle and Michael's rural taste in decor. It was a man's house. But it was homey and lovely. Smiling, Nikita kicked off her shoes and flopped down onto his couch, all thoughts of Adrian momentarily flitting away as the fire began to crackle beneath his hands.

"This is nice," she said when he turned around.

"I'm glad you like it."

It reminded her of the few times they'd been able to get away from Section together, holed up in whatever cozy cabin Michael had been able to find.

Section felt miles away from here.

He bent down and kissed the side of her mouth. Gentle — just a peck.

Murmuring his name, she pulled him down on the sofa beside her. Loving his warmth, his breath, she thought she could have stayed there with him forever. But one night would probably have to do.

0 0 0

_Section One - Madeline's Office_

Across the table, Operations slathered a biscuit with butter and strawberry jam while Madeline reached around their breakfast to open a video of her meeting the previous morning with Nikita. The audio was running normally — they were discussing Gabriel Janco — but the picture was focused in tightly on Nikita's eyes.

"I see no indication of a Gelman response," Madeline said, pausing the video. There wasn't much point in continuing further. "Nikita's irises and pupils are completely normal."

"Then we've lost control over her," Operations replied.

"Yes." Madeline sipped from her glass of orange juice. "With Adrian's help, it seems that Michael has been able to reverse what we've done." She paused for a moment, thinking. "Do you intend to reinstate the orders for his cancellation?"

"No." Operations smiled a little, chagrined. "Not now. Not as long as he has Adrian."

Madeline nodded. "Well, as long as he has Adrian…he'll have Nikita," she pointed out.

"I'm aware of that,"he replied. "When the time is right, we'll deal appropriately with all three of them. Right now…" He trailed off, distracted, and took a large bite of his breakfast.

"How is the situation in Alsace-Lorraine?" Madeline asked. She had been busy handling other Section issues while Operation's attention had been diverted, and she hadn't had the opportunity yet to catch up.

"George has Section Four locked down," he said. "No one is saying anything — not even the other Sections."

"And Michael?"

"He says he found nothing."

"But you don't believe him."

Operations inclined his head in a way that Madeline knew meant he wasn't sure. "I sent out two other operatives and their results weren't any better. But Michael is the best. He doesn't usually come up empty-handed. And considering what's happened recently…he might be holding a grudge."

"I don't think so," Madeline replied. "He has Nikita now. As far as he is concerned, he's won. I don't think he would risk that for a personal vendetta."

With as certain as she was of her assessment, Madeline began to wonder as they finished their breakfast whether Michael could actually be involved in whatever George was doing. They were an unlikely pair. But Michael's defection and the time he'd spent with Adrian could have pushed him into George's confidence. Whatever Operations decided to do, Madeline knew it was in their best interest to keep Michael firmly on their side. He'd already proven once that he knew enough to take down Section single-handed. With Nikita on his side, the pair could do some real damage.

Though the possibility was faint, she knew she had to prepare for it. And that meant making sure that George became Michael's enemy as well.

There were two simple ways to do that: through Adam, or through Michael's sister Sophie.

Adam was a poor option, Madeline thought. Michael wouldn't be likely to believe that anything involving his son didn't also involve Section. And they still needed Elena's access to the Valcek family.

But Sophie…

"So," Operations suddenly said. "How are things coming in Tunisia?"

"Full containment," she replied, though she suspected he already knew the good news.

He smiled. "Good."

0 0 0

_Michael's House_

The scent of something baking roused Nikita from a deep sleep. She stretched and yawned, rubbing her bare toes against the soft flannel sheets. Warm and content, she slipped back to sleep for a moment before the smell tickled her awake again. She found yesterday's clothes on the floor at the foot of the bed. They were wrinkled but passable, so she pulled them on and walked down the stairs. Michael was standing at the island in the kitchen, brushing a glaze on a pan of sweet rolls.

"Morning," she said, her voice raspy with sleep.

"Good morning." He looked up at her and smiled a little.

Pulling out a stool, Nikita sat down across from him and propped her head in one hand. He'd changed into civilian clothing: jeans and dark green sweater. She liked seeing him out of the usual black. It made her feel like he was finally incorporating her into his life outside of Section, the one he'd shared for so many years with Elena and Adam.

"Do you have to go in today?" she asked.

"No. I have down time."

He pushed a roll to her. Out of habit, Nikita ate it with her fingers, ignoring the fork that he'd balanced on the edge of the plate. The still hot and gooey glaze stuck to her fingertips, so she licked them clean until she found him watching her, his breakfast only half eaten.

It felt so strange to be having this morning with him. Years in Section had taught her that this kind of life was out of her reach. Operatives didn't lead normal lives. They didn't have relationships or families, especially with one another. Still, here she was, in Michael's kitchen…and back in his bedroom again where he emptied his pockets onto the dresser before pulling her into the bathroom and turning on the shower.

This had to be a dream, Nikita thought. It _had_ to be. Life hadn't ever been this good. Warm water was hitting her bare back. And Michael was standing right beside her — really there, really hers. No pretense this time.

He swept his fingers through her damp hair and then brushed a thumb along her eyebrow.

Then, from somewhere out in the bedroom, his phone rang.

Saying nothing, he shifted her to the side and climbed out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist but was still dripping wet as he left.

Nikita heard him answer, his voice muffled over the drone of the shower. One quiet word — _yes?_ — and then a brief pause before his phone snapped shut again and he walked back into the bathroom.

"We have to go," he said.

Nikita sighed and rested her head against the shower wall. "Do I have time to finish?" she asked.

He surprised her by dropping his towel and getting back in, snapping the shower curtain shut behind him. "Yes."

0 0 0

_Section One_

As they walked into Section together, Michael checked the time on his watch and said, "You've got a briefing in ten minutes." He was wearing black, the usual uniform, and was once again her boss.

"You don't?" she asked.

"No. You'll be with Fredricks."

Split up again.

"Are you on another mission?"

Michael turned toward his office. "Yes."

Their morning dalliance hadn't left her with much time to spare, so Nikita didn't stop in his office or ask whether he was going to be sent to Alsace-Lorraine again. Instead, she smiled, brushed his hand with hers, and went straight to her briefing. Birkoff and Fredricks were already there. She sat down between them.

Moments later, Operations arrived and immediately pulled up a virtual photograph of a pale, red haired woman.

"This is Gisela Almasy," he said and began pacing, a pair of glasses riding low on his nose. "Five years ago, she was the leader of a terrorist cell known as Rising Sun. We were able to track her to a facility in Poland. Operatives were sent in, the building was destroyed, and it was believed that she was killed."

He changed the image to a photograph of a nondescript building.

"Then, a week ago, this chemical plant was bombed. The type of the explosives and nature of the target had all of the characteristics of a Rising Sun attack."

"Rising Sun was a home grown cell," Birkoff interjected. "It was small and deep, very hard to track or break into. They recruited mostly out of universities — smart people. Almasy was able to evade us for years before we cornered her in Poland."

"You think she might still be alive," Nikita said.

"We don't know," Operations replied. "But we need to find out whether this is the work of a copy cat or the real thing." He changed the picture again, this time to a photo of another woman. "This is her sister, Juliane. We've been keeping an eye on her for years. She works at an elite, private women's college. If Almasy is still alive, Juliane would be handling all of Rising Sun's recruiting. We want to know what she knows. Nikita, you'll go in. The details are on your panels. You'll leave in twenty minutes."

There wasn't much equipment to pick up from Walter: an ugly pair of thick rimmed glasses, a data thief that Birkoff had programmed to rip information off computer hard drives, and a gun small enough for her to keep concealed under her clothes.

She had to change in the van while Fredricks debriefed her further — going over the plan that she already knew clearly from reading her panel while she wriggled into a pair of jeans, a tight t-shirt with a flashy logo on the front, and a backpack with several key chains dangling from the zipper. The drive to the college didn't take long.

They dropped her off two blocks from the main campus and she walked the rest of the way. Campus was bustling when she got there, apparently between classes. And aside from a few older, male faculty members, everyone she could see was female. Several groups of women were sitting in semi-circles in the grass, books open, deeply involved in discussion. Nikita had to take a narrow path near one group to get to the building where Juliane Almasy's office was, and as she passed by she caught a few words of what they were saying and realized that they were practicing German. Certainly a more laid-back way to learn the language than the desperate crash course that Nikita had been subjected to, she thought.

Juliane's office was on the third floor of her building, a huge stone structure that looked more like a medieval fort than an institution of higher learning.

"Can you confirm the target's location?" she asked quietly.

"Affirmative," Birkoff replied. "Target is off-site."

"You're clear to move in, Nikita," Fredricks said.

The stairs she had to climb weren't well lit, but she didn't meet anyone else on her way up. On the third floor, she followed the numbers stenciled on the doors, taking several turns down narrow hallways, until she reached the one she was looking for: 318. It wasn't locked.

"The computer is password protected with a local campus network log-on," Birkoff said. "I've got an admin log-on for you."

Tossing her backpack down, Nikita sat down at the computer, logged in with the password that Birkoff provided her, plugged in the data thief, and waited.

A progress bar appeared and ticked up a few bars before pausing.

"The download has stalled," she said.

"It's okay. It's probably just uploading. You'll see a significant slowdown until it's done. We factored that in," Birkoff replied.

Uploading? Nikita wondered what else had been put on the data thief. Perhaps a surveillance worm that would report Juliane's activities back to Section.

"Ok. There it goes." She sat back while the download finished and looked around Juliane's office. It was clean and friendly, an open window letting in sunlight and a gentle breeze that ruffled the leaves of a pot of flowers sitting on the corner of her desk. The walls were covered by bookshelves and posters, a prominent one on the back of her office door was an advertisement for a Moliere play that had been put on by the college several years ago.

"Target is heading your way," Fredricks told her after several minutes.

The computer beeped and she unplugged the data thief. "I'm done."

"Good. Return to the van."

Nikita unzipped her backpack, shoved the data thief inside, and pulled it back on. Nothing to do now but leave — a simple cold op in a non-hostile environment. Quietly, she closed the door behind her as she left. She'd only taken a few steps when someone appeared at the other end of the narrow hallway. Not Juliane Almasy, someone else. The woman stopped and smiled.

"Do you need any help?" she asked.

She had long, dark hair and a vaguely familiar face. Stuck to her chest was a sticker that proclaimed in permanent marker, "Hello! My name is Sophie."

"No," Nikita replied. "I'm just on my way out."

"Okay. Just checking. Students get lost up here all the time," Sophie said as they passed by one another. "Have a nice day."

"Thanks. You, too."

Nikita reached the stairs and started back down them, a little bothered but not sure why. Outside, the campus had mostly emptied of students and was peaceful. It was hard to imagine this school as a hot bed of terrorism. Harder still to think that any of the women lucky enough to end up here — women like Sophie — would be willing to trade in their life for the one of violence and uncertainty Nikita was returning to.


	3. Family

A/N: I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter out. I've found La Femme Nikita to be a uniquely difficult show to write for. So updates may be a little slow. But it's only because I'm banging my head against the keyboard, trying to write Michael feeling something without actually showing him feeling anything! Or because I'm buried under research for the novel I'm attempting to write. In any case, I'm very grateful for those of you out there reading this story. And I'm going to do my damndest to make it worth your while to stick through to the end! :)

Chapter 3: Family

_Section One_

"Hello, George," Operations said, putting the other man on speaker phone. "What can I do for you?"

"Giesela Almasy," George replied. "I just got a briefing that says she might still be alive."

"Yes. We sent out a team to investigate this morning."

"And?" George barked.

He sounded on edge, Madeline thought. Almasy was a personal case for him — one of her bombings had left shrapnel embedded in his hip. The wound still caused him pain, a constant reminder of the woman and how close she'd come to killing him. That was the reason Madeline had selected Almasy in the first place. She was sure that even the slightest shimmer of the woman's ghost would set George hunting.

"We were able to pinpoint several members of Rising Sun working at the same college, all in contact with one another, but nothing to indicate Almasy is leading the group," Operations replied.

"Rising Sun doesn't exist without Giesela Almasy," George insisted sharply.

The corner of Operations' mouth twitched upward. "Apparently it does."

"I want you moving on this."

"There's nothing to move on," Operations said.

"You have names. Find these people and detain them. Do whatever you have to and find out if Almasy is alive."

Operations picked up a panel and navigated through several screens with his finger. "I'm afraid we just don't have the available manpower to chase intel this vague. I've got a team in Tunisia, two more in the Balkans, and we're setting up to intercept a major Red Cell operation in the Black Sea."

"Don't give me that bureaucratic nonsense," George said, his tone even but threatening. "Find the time and get it done."

"I'm sorry, George. You'll have to outsource it to another Section," Operations replied, shaking his head. "We're not taking this one."

"Give me one legitimate reason why not."

Operations paused just long enough to seem hesitant, then he said, "Michael. His sister is one of those implicated. We can't bring her in here and risk compromising one of our best operatives right now."

George blew out a big breath. "Fine. Forward the intel to me. I'll take care of this myself."

"Consider it done."

George hung up without saying anything else and Operations turned to face Madeline with a grin on his face.

"I think that went well. Don't you?"

"Exactly as planned," she agreed.

The files they'd uploaded via Nikita's data thief onto Sophie's computer were just enough to ensure that she would be picked up by and interrogated by George's men. That she had nothing to tell them would only serve to waste even more of George's time so that they could figure out what he was looking for and find it first. Plus, the damage sure to be done to Sophie when she claimed to know nothing about Rising Sun would certainly keep Michael from defecting to Oversight. The only drawback was that Sophie's predicament might occupy too much of his time when they needed him in the field.

From the perch, Madeline watched Michael walk through comm on his way to his office. The mission she had assigned him to had just completed and, true to his usual routine, he was now sitting down to complete his report. With as volatile as he'd become recently, she knew his efficiency and dedication to his job would remain unchanged. It was something that she'd been counting on. Soon, he would check on Nikita's mission and discover what had happened — the trap was set, the pieces moving.

"Nothing left to do now but let it play out," Operations said. "Monitor the situation with Michael. I've got another team leaving for Alsace-Lorraine in an hour."

"I'll handle anything that might come up," Madeline replied.

As she walked back to her office, she wondered if Michael would approach her once he found out about Sophie, whether he would trust her to intervene on his behalf. She wouldn't, of course. But it would be an interesting test of his loyalties all the same.

0 0 0

As usual, Michael finished his report with time to spare. The blinds were drawn and he had the lights half off, so his office was comfortable and calm. The extra minutes he'd been able to scrounge here and there to sit alone and in silence like this had done a lot to get him through the years — especially after losing Simone, and Adam, and briefly Nikita. While he'd been living with Elena, these had been the only moments he'd had where he was free to be himself sans any disguise or barrier. This time was precious to him.

But right now he couldn't afford to relax.

He closed his report and logged onto Section's internal network, tier eight, where all the mission profiles were stored.

The surveillance currently being leveled at one small corner of France was extensive and he knew it would be difficult to break through undetected. But he also knew that there were periods of satellite blackout. And Operations' eyes and ears on the ground could only be in one place at a time. He had the advantage; he knew exactly where Adrian was. If he could pinpoint a moment between satellite orbits when Section would be looking elsewhere, he could fetch her without being noticed.

Opening a program that would sweep up behind him, removing traces of what he'd been looking for, he launched a search and gave it the criteria he was looking for. For several long moments, the computer ground away. And then, a simple text field gave him a date and a time: two days from now just after three in the morning.

Good.

That settled, he dropped back into the usual routine and navigated to Nikita's active and recent missions.

She was still scheduled to oversee Gabriel Janco's return to Romania. And she'd recently returned from a mission to…Michael paused. A mission to St. Catherine's College? Frowning, he opened the mission profile. Rising Sun wasn't a group he was familiar with. They had been active early in his career at Section and had been too high profile for a new recruit like him to get involved with. But he did know that George held a certain personal grudge against the old Rising Sun leader, Giesela Almasy. The intel was flagged to be forwarded on to Oversight. It wasn't much. Just a short list of names.

One name solidified the flutter of fear he'd felt at seeing St. Catherine's mentioned in a Section document.

_Sophie_.

He was up and out of his chair before his computer even finished logging off. Buttoning his jacket with one hand, he walked quickly through comm to Walter's work station.

"Hey, Michael." Walter smiled. "What can I do for you?"

"Have you seen Nikita?"

"Uh…yeah. About half an hour ago when she dropped off her equipment."

Glancing quickly to the side to be sure they wouldn't be overheard, Michael asked, "Have you reprogrammed her data thief?"

"Not yet. Why?"

"I need it."

Walter's expression fell.

"Operations has been cracking down on this kind of thing, you know," he said as he turned around and pulled open one of his drawers. "You know I'd do anything to help out you and Nikita, but my ass is really on the line here." He slid the small device across the table to Michael. "So try to get it back to me as soon as you can. All right?"

It wouldn't take long.

Back in his office, Michael broke through the file encryption in only a few minutes and took apart the programming. It was a simple, lightweight device and once he was inside, it was obvious what Operations and Madeline had done. They'd used Nikita to plant false information and now were placing Sophie right in George's crosshairs.

But why?

Did they know about Adrian? Perhaps this was something designed to keep him too occupied to interfere.

Operations was alone in the perch, his back turned, when Michael returned the data thief to Walter who was intensely relieved to get it back before it was missed. He didn't ask any questions and immediately set to work wiping its memory.

Working his way through all of her usual haunts, it didn't take Michael long to find Nikita. She was with Fredericks who was talking at length while she listened — probably to some sort of heart wrenching personal confession. She had a way of drawing those out of people.

"Nikita," Michael interrupted. He didn't need to say anything else; Fredericks quickly excused himself. "I need to talk to you."

"Okay." With an indulgent smile, Nikita turned toward him. "What's up?"

"Not here. Meet me in ten minutes."

Without any indication that something was wrong, she nodded and walked away. Over the past few years, she'd gotten a lot better at subduing her feelings. Early on, he'd spent many nights wishing she would learn to put herself aside and just do the job. But now, after struggling to bring her back and after learning to live for her, her ability to be a cold Section agent troubled him.

Ten minutes later, he found her deep under comm in the unmonitored area of Section One that had become their de-facto meeting place. She was leaning against the wall but straightened when she spotted him.

"What's going on?" she asked. "Is it Adrian?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"The mission you went on today to St. Catherine's College," he began. "I want to know more about it."

She crossed her arms. "It was nothing. Just a cold op, gathering intel on an old terrorist group — Rising Sun."

"You were given a data thief," he said. "Who was the target?"

"A woman named Juliane Almasy."

A chill washed over him. "She's dead," he said.

"How do you know?"

"Because Simone killed her."

He remembered the mission because it wasn't long after he'd met Simone, and she'd been injured in the course of it — hit by a stray bullet that had come mere inches from severing a major artery. Nikita's face was as pale now as Simone's was then, drawn with horror she wasn't bothering to suppress.

"Then who was the real target?" she asked.

Confident now, he replied, "My sister."

She drew in a breath. "_Sophie_. Oh my God, Michael. I saw her when I was leaving. I thought she was a student."

"They used the thief to load falsified records onto her computer," he explained. "She will appear now to be connected to Rising Sun. And the intel has been forwarded to Oversight."

"Well, we can't just let them pick her up. You know what they'll do to her." Nikita pushed off the wall, ready to go. "We have to go get her before anyone else gets there."

He grabbed her arm to hold her back. "Sophie thinks I'm dead. If she finds out about Section, she'll never be safe."

"Well…" She started to protest, but understood as well as he did the danger of drawing friends and family into the world they lived in now. "Okay. I'll do it, then. I'll make sure she's safe."

There weren't a lot of people he'd ever trusted with Sophie's safety. But Nikita easily made the cut.

"Thank you," he said, his throat tight.

0 0 0

Anything she could have gotten from Walter would have been traced too easily back to Section. So Nikita went back to her apartment and retrieved her own gun. It wasn't as accurate and didn't have the range of even the old P6's they'd once used, but she was hoping she would be able to find Sophie quickly enough that she wouldn't face any resistance.

Michael had told her what he knew about his sister, enough for her to work out what she thought was a good plan to get Sophie off the St. Catherine's campus and away from George. After Michael had been arrested and had supposedly died in jail, she'd been watched over by René Dian, Michael's compatriot in _L'Heure Sanguine_. She'd married a chef, had one young son, and lived just outside the city. At the college, she worked as a counselor.

St. Catherine's campus wasn't as busy when Nikita arrived there as it had been earlier in the day. Only a few students were outside, though the lights were still on in all of the buildings and through the windows she could see that the library was still crowded. Sophie's building was nearly abandoned. On the main floor, a maintenance closet was open and a cart of cleaning supplies was sitting outside a classroom. The janitor smiled at her as she passed by — an elderly, overweight man who was definitely not Section material. Satisfied he was no threat, she climbed the stairs toward Sophie's office.

She usually worked late, Michael had said. And he was right. The light in her office was still on, though all those around her were dark. Her door was open and piano music was playing. Debussy.

"Excuse me." Nikita knocked on the doorframe. "Sorry. I don't mean to interrupt."

Sophie looked up from her work, surprised. "Oh. No. You're not interrupting. Come on in."

Nikita stepped inside but didn't sit down in either of the comfortable chairs across Sophie's desk.

"You were here earlier today," she said, recognition flashing across her face. It was evident now that she and Michael were related. They had the same slightly wavy dark hair, and the same clear green eyes. But more than that, there was something similar in the way she carried herself, full of confidence and strength and intelligence.

"Yeah. I was."

Sophie smiled. "It's a little late. But I'm glad you decided to come back. What can I help you with?"

"I don't usually do this," Nikita admitted.

"That's okay," Sophie replied quickly. "Please…sit down. Tell me what's on your mind."

"Oh, that's okay. I was actually thinking—" Nikita stopped mid-sentence, the sound of footsteps interrupting her. Someone was coming up the stairs. More than one person, she realized after a moment. Turning around, Nikita quietly closed and locked Sophie's office door. Whoever had been sent to pick her up would want to keep the procedure surgical. They wouldn't want to alert Rising Sun by breaking in, guns blazing.

Sophie sat back in her chair and regarded Nikita with patient indulgence. "Is something the matter?"

"I don't suppose you have a fire escape?" Nikita asked.

"There's one at the end of the hall."

The window was open, letting in a cool night breeze. As Nikita walked around the desk and popped the screen out of the window frame, concern finally washed over Sophie's features. Someone knocked on the door then — three sharp raps. Nikita clamped her hand down over Sophie's mouth, squeezing off the breath that she'd taken to call out to whoever was on the other side. With bruising force, Nikita pulled Sophie back into her chair and pinned her there.

"Listen." She leaned down so that she could whisper in Sophie's ear. "There's men out there and when they come in here, they're going to hurt you."

A second knock sounded against the door, more staccato and impatient.

"So get up. Don't say anything. And come with me right now. You have to trust me, I'm a friend," Nikita finished, biting her lip and hoping to God that Sophie wouldn't do anything stupid as she slowly released her grip on the other woman. Sophie didn't react immediately, just sat in her chair for a second, until a crack like thunder rattled the door. They were kicking it in.

With a gasp, Sophie was up on her feet.

"Come on," Nikita said. "Out the window. We'll crawl around the building to the fire escape."

"Crawl around the…?" Sophie leaned out the window for a second, then pulled her head back in. "What? How?"

One more kick, and the door was going to give way, Nikita thought. They didn't have time to stand and talk about the problem, and she didn't want any of George's men to see and identify her. With Adrian in their pocket or not, there'd be severe consequences to pay if she and Michael were caught interfering with one of George's operations.

"There's a ledge. Go," Nikita said and fairly pushed Sophie up and out the window. It wasn't a big ledge, and Sophie's high heeled shoes barely found purchase enough to stand on it. She was clutching the brick face of the building so hard her fingertips were white. Nikita climbed out beside her and urged her forward toward the next window, aware of the sound of splintering wood in the office behind them.

"I'm going to fall," Sophie said desperately as she inched along.

"No you won't. It's just a little further," Nikita replied.

The fire escape was only one office over from Sophie's, attached to the side of the building. They only had a few feet to traverse before they could grab onto it and climb down the stairs to the ground below.

Behind them, the office door finally gave way and hit the wall with a bang. Men came flooding into the room, the cock of their weapons playing a familiar rhythm against the pounding of their feet. Nikita swung around, pulling her gun, and trained it on the window as she continued to urge Sophie to the fire escape. She'd grabbed onto the metal bars and was dropping onto the landing below when the first man's head popped out the window, searching for them.

Nikita fired off a wild shot that embedded itself in the window frame above him, grazing his scalp as it passed. She didn't want to kill him — he was a comrade, maybe even someone she knew or had worked with before. And he was just doing his job. He yelped and ducked back inside, and Nikita fired off several more rounds, laying down a cover long enough to reach back with one hand, grab the fire escape, and swing down next to Sophie.

"Let's go," she said, grabbing Sophie's hand.

She felt a flash of guilt that there wasn't more time to explain or reassure the frightened woman that she'd made the right choice. It probably felt a lot like an abduction as Nikita dragged her down the rest of the fire escape and into the damp evening grass. And that's what it was, Nikita realized as they ran across the campus.

Sophie's life would never be normal again.

But it was better than the alternative.


End file.
